


the butterfly

by Buttercup_ghost



Series: try it again (breathing's just a rhythm) [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: ...especially the relationship ones... whoops, ...these tags are a bit of a mess aha, ...this is restraint on my part., Akamatsu Kaede Lives, Also. I really wanted to tackle the tengie issues, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, And have them sort it out, Background Relationships, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Development, Codependency, Complex feelings, Complicated Relationships, Crushes, Depression, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Different Murders And Blackened, F/F, F/M, Female Protagonist, Guilt, How it would develop and stuff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Murder Mystery, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Himitengie development, Protagonist Maki Harukawa, References to Depression, Reopening Wounds And Trauma, Retelling, Rewrite, Self-Indulgent, So you just get hints and flavors of it, Time Travel, Trials, and adding Angie to that for end game was.. a bit too much? Too ambitious to cover., endgame kaemaki & himitengie for clarification sake, i kinda really wanted kaemakigie but. I really just wanted to focus on kaede relationship w maki, i mean obviously, just in the prologue rlly though, maki can have a little codependency. as a treat., oh my!, pleh. teenagers, uhhhhhhh I think this counts as
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:29:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: Two years after the game, Maki Harukawa wakes up in a locker.
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede/Harukawa Maki, Akamatsu Kaede/Shirogane Tsumugi, Amami Rantaro & Harukawa Maki, But not really? - Relationship, Chabashira Tenko & Harukawa Maki, Chabashira Tenko & Yonaga Angie, Chabashira Tenko/Yonaga Angie, Chabashira Tenko/Yonaga Angie/Yumeno Himiko, Chabashira Tenko/Yumeno Himiko, Gokuhara Gonta & Harukawa Maki, Harukawa Maki & Everyone, Harukawa Maki & Hoshi Ryoma, Harukawa Maki & Iruma Miu, Harukawa Maki & K1-B0, Harukawa Maki & Momota Kaito & Saihara Shuichi, Harukawa Maki & Oma Kokichi, Harukawa Maki & Saihara Shuichi & Yumeno Himiko, Harukawa Maki & Shinguji Korekiyo, Harukawa Maki & Shirogane Tsumugi, Harukawa Maki & Tojo Kirumi, Harukawa Maki & Yonaga Angie, Harukawa Maki/Yonaga Angie, Kinda Past Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito/Saihara Shuichi, Momota Kaito/Saihara Shuichi, One Sided Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, Past Harukawa Maki/Saihara Shuichi, Past Harukawa Maki/Saihara Shuichi/Yumeno Himiko, Past Harukawa Maki/Yumeno Himiko, Yonaga Angie/Yumeno Himiko, past Akamatsu Kaede/Saihara Shuichi - Relationship, past Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito
Series: try it again (breathing's just a rhythm) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970359
Comments: 7
Kudos: 80





	the butterfly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _noun_  
>  1.  
> a plant of the daisy family that has bright rayed flowers, typically of purple or pink.  
> 2.  
> a radiating array of microtubules associated with a centrosome in a dividing cell.
> 
> ORIGIN: from the Greek word _astēr_ , meaning star.
> 
> [ _“The astēr was an illusion; it seems everything was a sham, with everyone’s breath taken away by the neon. It’s a lone and lonely fantasy, no need for tears, just this sensation—mine, and mine alone.”_ ](https://youtu.be/ZEy36W1xX8c)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maki is a bit different than canon Maki. I have a lot of post-canon headcanons about the effects of the game, how her perceptions get shattered throughout it, and how it effects her. [I actually wrote a longer note going into more detail about how Maki has developed & the affects on her relationships](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DCNtm7T77pyo2_SLlYOqoe1CEFtO_g7HUe-AglvbwYA), but I went over the character limit :p. You can click the link to read it, it’s a bit ramble-y and disorganized, though.
> 
> Also! I turned 18 recently! My birthday was March 19th :P
> 
> (....Dear god, legal adulthood....)
> 
> Warnings for: past character death, grief/mourning, reference to the scenes where Maki chokes Kokichi, implied/references to depression, some brief suicidal thoughts, complex relationships, & codependency. I think that’s it? Pretty much what you’d expect from post-game stuff.

_Butterflies._

_Beautiful creatures, vibrant and colorful. Once a caterpillar, then shut away into a cocoon—so many changes happen, before they could fly._

_It could be said that butterflies were a symbol of change; of the progress and personal growth one goes for._

_Maki Harukawa never really thought about things like that. Maybe, in a vague sort of way, remarking in the back of her mind. But really, such a thing was too cheesy for her, much more suited for people long since gone. If they could see her now, apart of her wondered, what would they think?_

_It’s not like Maki liked to dwell on such things—to do so only ever hurt her._

_But it was hard not to think about it; to think of those days trapped, before the barrier burst. To think of those days before she changed, before she loved and cried and screamed. When she was just a simple caterpillar, trapped in a cocoon._

_Those days had shaped her, formed her into the person she was today; erased her reality, and replaced it with her current self. She had grown, and learned, and changed—became someone new, someone better. Even as she regretted, a laundry list of mistakes, the person she became was someone she could have never been before, back in the past that used to trap her._

_A silver lining; and through it, she was not alone. Domestic days she hardly dared dream about, filled the after, bittersweet in temperament._

_Yes, she had two other butterflies next to her, people who had changed and grown as much as she had. People she trusted, people she loved, the only two people in the world that could understand._

_In a world full of lazy, peaceful scorn, for a second, she believed that could be enough._

_(But such things are only ever semi-permanent.)_

* * *

“Maki-Chan! Maki-Chan! Maki-Chan!”

A voice rang out, rousing our plucky protagonist from her sleep. Groggily, Maki called back. “Himi?” 

Himiko giggled, tugging on her hand. “Makiii-Chan! Wake _up_!”

“Why?” She grumbled. 

Himiko pouted. “Don’t tell me you forgot. It’s our anniversary!”

Maki blinked. “Oh, right.”

“Nyeh... Did you really forget? You’re the worst.” The words lacked any real bite, even as Himiko scowled. 

“Hm,” Maki rubbed her eyes, “Don’t worry. I got you a gift.”

Immediately, Himiko brightened.

“Well, come _on_! What are you doing still in bed? Shuichi’s making pancakes!”

A blink. “He is?”

“Nyeh... You know how bad I am at cooking. But I wanted to surprise you!”

Maki smiled, “Yeah, I remember when you almost burned down the house, trying to bake cookies...”

Himiko pouted, once again. “It was valentines! I wanted to make you a treat, as a surprise!”

Maki’s smile widened. She covered it with her hand, before she schooled her face. “Well, the near fire _was_ a surprise.”

Himiko’s pout deepened. “The _worst.”_

Maki breathed out air in a laugh.

(Himiko brightened immediately at that, a proud little smile on her face. Maki was half convinced she and Shuichi were in a competition, to see who could make her laugh more. It seemed Himiko was winning, even if half the time Maki was laughing _at_ her.)

* * *

The sun was peaking through the blinds, warm and light, when she followed Himiko down. It kissed her nose, opened her bleary eyes. Pried them open, bright enough to burn.

But the heat was nice, still. Like a warm cup of tea, it comforted something in her. If she was a more artsy person, she would wax soliloquies about how peaceful it was, how blinding. But she’s not. Instead, she focused on the feeling of Himiko’s smooth and polished hand, clasped in her rough one. Her callouses tried to catch, as she pulled, as if to make sure she never let go. 

“Maki...” Shuichi called from the kitchen, when she entered. “You’re up.”

He smiled at her, warm and soft, like the moon. In the light of the day, sunlight making his hair shine opalescent, Maki could feel heat flare on her cheeks, with such a look. She glanced away from such light with a grumble, faux airy. “Yeah, yeah.” She smirks, losing herself in the banter, “The gremlin wouldn’t let me sleep.”

“ _Hey_!” Himiko squawked in the background, but didn’t deny it. Maki hid another smile behind a blank face.

From the way Shuichi’s golden eyes softened, all starlight and skylines, she didn’t fully succeed.

“Well, I’m almost done with making breakfast.” He laughed lightly, “I know it’s not as good as your food, but I think it’ll do.” 

Maki sat down, huffing, “Better than whatever Himiko would do.” 

“Nyeh... I’m _right here_.” Himiko glared. 

Shuichi giggled. “Seriously,” Maki continued, hand coming to play with her lose hair, at the side of her face, “How have you survived until now?”

“Mehhh. Cup noodles.”

Maki sighed. “Well, thank god you have us to feed you, then.” 

“Hmmm.. Yep.” 

Maki blinked. “Yep?” 

“Nyeh.. I’d probably starve, otherwise. I’m self aware enough to admit that.” 

“Well,” Shuichi cut in, “There’s no way we’d let that happen. Here,” He placed plates in front of them, “Now you won’t starve.”

Himiko already had a bite halfway to her mouth. Shuichi smirked, “Though I’m afraid I can’t feed you after midnight.” 

Himiko paused, food poised right at her mouth, scowling. “Very funny.”

Shuichi’s laugh brought a grin to Maki’s face.

She took a bite of her food, hiding it between bars of metal. Like a princess trapped in a castle, expression something to fetch and rescue, or a secret to lock away.

She pulls her fork away and shares it, something private and gaurded, made for three, but given only to two. “Delicious.”

Himiko and Shuichi’s double smiles blinded her, as bright as the cosmos. 

She eats up their starlight like cookies, always hungry for one more. 

~~(But one more is dead.)~~

* * *

It’s selfish, she thinks. To treat this day like it’s something sweet. 

Their anniversary. Two years together. 

(Two years after the killing game ended.) 

She could really laugh at it. 

The picture frames of her dead, fake, _so very fake_ classmates hang heavy above her. In the light, draping around her like a veil, as she looks at them with an indescribable expression, her form is so unopaque she might as well be see-through. Half turned away, her red eyes lock onto his face. 

It must be selfishness, really.

The cloth in her hand is cold with water. Too soaked to be just damp, but too dry to be soaking; ever so slowly, no more than three drops of water fall to the floor. Maybe, standing before them, she’s as good as a ghost, too.

~~(Apart of her wonders if she was destined to die, then, and just missed her chance.)~~

Still, her sin-rusted gaze stays locked on his face. He’s smiling, in the frame, dressed in clothes she’s never seen him wear, in anything but videos. It doesn’t matter much. Or maybe it matters too much, that the only images she has of _her_ kaito are grainy images on a TV screen, reruns of the killing game, as if it really was just mindless entertainment, the newest reality show to gossip on, in all its drama and glory.

She hates that. Her hands fist tighter in the cloth she holds. 

Still, even as water squeezes out, makes her hand, too, wet with the ice cold liquid, she is gentle when she brings it to his face. Her hand trembles. Tenderly, she cleans his frame, and the glass separating them. As if it was as good as holding his face, wiping away the blood and pain he hid from her. A vicious reminder that she was not _enough_. 

She breathed out, heavy, purposefully steady. 

She curses herself, a bit. Curses that she doesn’t know what’s real or not, or if reality even has any bearing. When everything that made her Maki Harukawa was a lie, could she even trust these feelings, clogging up her chest? 

She doubted. With shaking fingers, she traces his outline. Traces her failures, finger on his lip, before it went straight down, cuving at his chin. This is where the line of blood had ended, when he coughed and shook and smiled, smiled, lied to her that he was fine, all while red bubbled out of his lips like poison. A ugly truth she was weak enough to wish she didn’t see, the same shade as her iris. 

This is where the line ended. 

Selfish, she thinks. Her finger doesn’t move, standing still on the glass. Selfish, self indulgence, an ill fitting look on her. It’s well worn. Three photos are missing.

(Only five are cleaned.) 

_What did you think of me?_ She wants to ask it. _And what would you think of me, now?_

She isn’t sure. 

(He didn’t say _I love you_ , back. He didn’t say I love you.) 

Abruptly, her finger dropped. She doesn’t speak the question out loud, throat closed off, lump constricting. She doesn’t ask. 

(No one would answer.) 

She sighed, world weary. She misses. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers to herself, arms hugging her own frame, as if she was just a photo to hold, too, now, reduced to nothing but images on a page, lines in a script, manipulated by forces she could never hope to understand, human skin hiding razor blades, “It doesn’t matter in the slightest.” 

In a sea full of them, no one cares if a single star goes out.

(No one cares if that star was more valuable than the universe, to her.) 

She smiles, but it’s bitter, now. Rueful. She wonders what she would do different, if she could do it again. She wonders if that would matter.

Her eyes catch on the pale image of Kokichi Ouma, looking as scared as a child, within his frame. Maybe he’s judging her, from wherever he is. Maybe they all are. 

She looks away, letting the cloth cover his face, her failure, as if she could suffocate those phantom words silent. 

This time, it’s her who chokes on a laugh, smile as fragile as the glass under her palm.

* * *

(Later, Shuichi will clean Kaede’s frame, doe eyed and lost, the perfect image of a mourning lover. Later, he will clean Kaitos frame all over again, heedless and uncaring about how the glass squeaked, overwash. He will look at him the same way, and Maki will pretend not to notice. Later, Himiko, too, will join them, standing on her tip toes, hands outstretched as if reaching for salvation, instead of Angie’s frame. She always takes them down, when the cleans, one at a time, in order of their death. She’s slow, and methodical. She presses kisses onto each of the glass, only having to wipe again. Tenko isn’t smiling back at her, within it. Neither is Angie, blue eyes sunken. Their eyes don’t sparkle like they’re meant to. But Himiko smiles at both regardless.)

(They both ignore Kokichi’s frame, never glancing, never letting their eyes wander—as if he never existed at all, only a bad memory to throw away, an aftertaste better left unlingered. His terrified eyes haunt her, as she stares at him. Sometimes, the glass sheens in a way, that she can see her own reflection, overplayed on top.)

(She wishes she had the heart to break it, to crumple up his photo like they did for Shirogane, like they did for Korekiyo, like they did for Kirumi. She doesn’t.)

* * *

They don’t talk about it.

* * *

Sometimes, with their bodies pressed against hers, she feels like this ill-defined thing is the closest to love she’s ever gotten. Closer than Kaito’s sunlight smiles, words of encouragement that ring hollower and hollower, post-mortem. Closer than the lines he spoke without following them. Than his smile streaked with blood.

And she’s not really bitter. She’s not really anything in particular, to that line of thought, except emptied. Like her own mind had carved out her insides, sculpted her heart into something broken. Sitting between the two people she loves, she can’t help but think of her first one, now only dead meat and nothing more. Can’t help but wonder, what she would have looked like, if she ever married him. Wonder what a real veil would look like, upon her, instead of particles shimmering in the light, only dust in the air. If he would smile at her with that grin of his, wide and unrestrained. If he would look at her as in love as Himiko does, as Shuichi does, soft and tender and bright. Or if, somehow, he’d be _more_ , shinning so radiant no one else would compare. If they would live in domestic bliss, go on a honeymoon, grow old together, have children and a family and something greater, something _better_ , more vibrant than the cosmos he loves. If he would look at her like _she_ was more than the cosmos he loved. 

Wonders if either of them could be happy with that. Could be fulfilled with that, settled down and normal, dreams of the stars abandoned for _her_ , for a family. If she could stomach being a housewife, looking after children she never knew how to act around, or if she’d yearn for something more, a dream of her own she’s never had. If she would opt to find a job, instead, working all day for some chucklefuck boss who would reep all the rewards, like every other greedy fucker out here. Wonders if any of that would even work.

Wonders if she’ll ever be satisfied. 

She doubts it, somehow. A happy life, married to Kaito—it’s merely a fairytale, a fantasy her heart is too weak to not indulge. A dream malformed and incomplete, full of questions without answers, blank spaces and static. The mystery is the opposite of alluring, and she finds no comfort in it. It is simply a book, with missing pages. 

It is not something to hold onto. It is not a reason to live for.

It is simply childishness, to cling to a dead man, instead of the two, living humans who sleep next to her. 

It is simply childishness. 

She doesn’t like to dwell. 

(She doesn’t like to dwell on how Shuichi woke up with the cry of Kaede on his lips, three am blinking on the clock, or how Himiko would wake up with a sob of Tenko, in the early mornings, after another restless night, sleep blurring her eyes as she looked directly at her, uncomprehending, eyelashes squinting her form into someone else, either.) 

* * *

(They are all broken and lost things, fractured and splinter by false memories and real deaths. In this world that sees them only as characters, they only have each other. This apartment they share, bought on something as cheep as prize money, as if material things could make up for what they lost, was the only home that would take them. Crafted from thin walls and even thinner curtains, a place they wouldn’t leave unless they had to. An oasis with just them three, built upon tainted land too dry to sustain them. This is all they had: a false heaven created in a peaceful hell. They cling to it, hidden away from prying people who talk but never _listen_ , look but never _see_.)

(And she wonders how Kaito would expect her to survive in such a world, love such a universe. Wonders when even the sky was tainted for her.)

(It feels like she’s always just wondering.) 

* * *

They spend the day curled up together, a blob, a mess of blankets and pillows. Watching Marathon’s of old TV shows, snacks in front of them, idly chatting about something or other.

(The frames glare down at them, watching.)

(They avoid any anime.) 

* * *

She doesn’t know when, exactly, this started – when _they_ started – when stray glances turned to stray touches turned to stray kisses. When stray kisses turned to something more, something meanful, desperate and opened mouthed as if they could swallow each other’s pains whole. When it turned scalding, burning each other with touches and gazes and unsaid words.

Maybe they didn’t need any words.

(Or maybe they were still afraid to say it.) 

She didn’t know the exact time, the exact date. If there was one. It was a slow decent; a relationship that just happened, overtime, growing and blooming into a flower. When did a sprout become a blossom? When can you say a plant becomes a flower? When can you pinpoint when love becomes love, or when love changes to a different one?

When was their anniversary?

When did he and she and her become _them,_ become a set of three, become a tangled knot together, names never not following the other?

When did they become each other’s world’s?

(There was only really one date they could pinpoint, when they became we became three, against the world that would reject them, dependent, leaning so close they were almost one figure, silhouettes unspaced.) 

* * *

“Goodnight, Maki,” Himiko murmured, sleepy against her. “Shuichi.” Curled up against her chest, under their comforter. All the base sheets on their bed were white, a canopy separating it from the mess of blue and red and pink of their bedroom. At least, it would, if pillows and stuffed animals didn’t litter their space, splatters of paint on a blank canvas. Most of them were Himiko’s. Some of them were Maki’s, under the thin, false pretense of Himiko being the real owner. A few were Saihara’s, small and sweet and little. A little white seal. A baby blue whale. A otter. Oddly, mostly water life. Maki didn’t really understand why, but shrugged it off. Most of hers were red and pink kittens. Himiko hoarded any she could get, seemingly without ryme or reason. Blankets were pilled, making it more of a nest than a properly made bed, miscellaneous and clashing colors, conflicting patterns and tastes. Yet, it all melded into one, single mass to embrace them. 

(There were never any bears.) 

Sometimes, Shuichi will try to make it, sort out the mess until it’s clean and crisp. It always managed to turn back into a nest when they settled in.

(Sometimes he doesn’t try. Sometimes he just lays there in the morning, staring up at the ceiling, near unresponsive. Sometimes he asks with a terrifyingly dead voice, what the point was, in doing anything, in getting up, in waking and being alive in this world that doesn’t want them. Maki doesn’t know how to answer. The only thing she can say, is that Kaito would want them to live. It doesn’t feel like enough, those days he doesn’t make their bed, those days he hardly moves at all.)

(Sometimes, it’s Maki who doesn’t move, who snaps and snarls with hissing breathes as Shuichi repeats her words back to her, cursing him and herself and the whole damn world.)

(Himiko is the only one who avoids the beds on her days. She avoids staying still, avoids resting, no matter how tired she gets, like its the plague itself, lethargic movements, or frantic restlessness, overcompensating for her desires. Still so determined not to betray a promise to a dead girl.) 

“...Goodnight, Himiko, Shuichi,” she says, back against Shuichi’s chest. “Hm,” Himiko replies, already sleepy, a bone deep tiredness making her sink down into the abyss. “Love you.”

She paused, as she always did. “Love you, too.” 

(They never said it, in the daylight. But the night had a way of prying secrets out of pressed lips, as if the dark could cover the words back up, and keep them hidden.) 

Shuichi hummed against them, a silent agreement, wariness dragging him down just as fast as Himiko. “Goodnight,” was all he had time to mumble, before the waves pulled him under. 

(Shuichi never says _I love you,_ not even at night. He’s tried, before, but the words get trapped between his teeth, and he chokes on them, as if they were too hard to say, without suffocating on how _much_ they were. Another unsaid thing between them, more apparent in his actions than words, within tender kisses and warm smiles, within sounds of concurrence and how he’d tuck his chin on her head, within how he’d nod or mouth the words without voice. She thinks, that maybe, to Shuichi, to actually say it would be a betrayal. The only person he manages to whispers it to, hardly there in the air; Kaede’s framed picture, separated by glass.) 

(She wonders what it says about her, when the words fall off of her lips, with minimal fuss.) 

Like always, Maki fell asleep last, well into the early morning, staring at the ceiling. 

Wondering what she’d do without the warm bodies curled against her.

* * *

When she wakes up, it’s not in a warm, loving embrace. When she wakes up, it’s to the cold and unfeeling walls of a metal locker. 

And her whole world collaspes.

* * *

_Oh, but..._

_Have you heard of the butterfly effect?_

_It is said that the flutter of their wings can cause things you would never expect._

_The simplest of changes, say, foreknowledge—a linchpin to something greater._

_What to do, then, when a simple red one comes a flutter, where she’s not supposed to be?_

_I wonder..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: Saihara not saying I love you - I want to make it clear that he does love Himiko and Maki, he just wasn’t ready to say it, yet. He’s a shy guy. Even if he’s a lot better now. Not to mention, he’s still getting over and processing Kaede and Kaito’s deaths, and his feelings regarding them and it. 
> 
> Re: Kokichi’s frame being ignored - very, very rarely, Himiko looks at it. She just doesn’t do it when anyone is around, because she has a lot of conflicting feelings regarding him. All of them do. Saihara, however, does not look at the picture, very purposely. Thinking about Kokichi makes him feel bad, so he avoids it.
> 
> Re: Kirumi, Kiyo, and Shiroganes missing frames - Kiyo obviously brings back bad memories for Himiko, I don’t think I have to explain much, same thing with Shirogane. Kirumi, on the other hand, might seem odd to some of you, but it’s mainly because 1. Kirumi reminds Maki of what she tried to do in the fifth chapter, and 2. The end of the second trial brings back bad memories for all of them, especially Saihara. (And yeah, as explained in the link in the beginning notes... I have slight bias against Kirumi. I still like her, though, trial 2 just hurt me. But it’s mainly for those other reasons.)
> 
> Re: five frames/photos washed - only five of the photos out have regular upkeep. Kaito, who gets washed twice, Kaede, Angie, Tenko, and Kokichi. Maki’s the one who cleans Kokichi’s, if that wasn’t clear. (Ironic, considering during the game, she’s the one who hated him most. But that irony is kinda what I’m going for.)
> 
> Re: why Kokichi’s frame is up in the first place - Maki asked for it to be there. Everyone feels conflicted on Kokichi, so his photo being out of sight would make sense, however, Maki didn’t like how the idea of that made her feel. Again, their relationship/dynamic is something I touched upon in the link in the beginning notes. It’s a lot more conflicted than it was pre-trial five, especially since Maki has got some distance with the situation.
> 
> Re: beginning narration - I’ve fiddled with this a bit, but I’m still not completely happy with it. I hope the ideas came across, and weren’t _too_ cheesy, haha. Butterflies are a symbol of change & personal growth, and with the butterfly effect, I thought that ‘the butterfly’ was a perfect title for this. I wanted to make sure that theme/idea came across, though, hence the beginning & end narration. Hopefully it’s okay, and not, like, super hamfisted. I dunno. Feels kinda hamfisted, so I’m a bit insecure about it, aha. Though I do like the ending narration better than the beginning one, I think... I think the beginning is also a bit. Telling vs showing. You know? But it’s the best I could get it to, honestly, so. Bleh.
> 
> Re: Kaito never saying I love you - this is actually a canon thing. Before his execution, Maki tells Kaito she loves him, and he just. Kinda. Avoids saying it back? At least in the localization. That’s something that stuck with me, so I’m sure after Maki reflects back and realizes that, it would stay with her, too. Even in the end, she doesn’t know Kaito’s true feelings... that sort of thing.
> 
> Re: my interpretation and headcanons regarding these characters - I know some things, like my bias against Kirumi, will push some readers away, which I think is perfectly reasonable. You don’t _have_ to read, and I definitely won’t blame you if you skip out! I am trying to be more fair to Kirumi, but my bias probably shows, and if you like Kirumi a lot, it may not be very fun to see her criticized. Though I do believe you should be critical of the media you consume, and that you can recognize a characters flaws even if you love them, I do know that reading overly critical things about them, when you just want to read a story, isn’t that fun, a lot of the time. But, these are my interpretation and portrayal of the characters, and I’m definitely not going to change them. That goes for all the characters, here—I’m trying my best to be fair to all of them, and portray them in what I feel is a realistic light, but some of my views might be hit or miss for some of you. (For example, I’m pretty sure you all already know I love Kokichi, so this will be sympathetic toward him. I understand his thought process, and even if I disagree some of it & his actions, I’m still largely sympathic towards _him,_ as a character. I don’t have enough room to go into detail, but. Yeah.) 
> 
> I’m happy to explain my reasoning on why I choose this or that, though, a lot of times! Showing my thought process and logic behind a decision is actually pretty fun. I’m also happy to clarify anything!
> 
> Thanks for reading! This will probably have sporadic updates, because I’m actually trying to work on another really big danganronpa project, that I’ve been working on and off on for years, now. 
> 
> (Also, I hope I didn’t miss any typos when editing, haha.)


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